Nothing Left
by HermioneGirl96
Summary: The Marauders have always been the one bright spot in Remus's life, but all three of them have died or been revealed as a traitor in the past 18 hours, and there are some things no one can handle, no matter how strong. A one-shot, T for language.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. **

There was nothing left in the world to live for. Nothing left.

Remus Lupin was an expert at dealing with things. All his life, it had just been more and more bad news. _You're a werewolf. You might kill someone you love. If you don't, you'll hurt yourself, tear yourself to shreds. You might never be able to go to school, have a job, have a normal life. _Then, later: _You're at Hogwarts, but you'll never fit in. You're a danger to your friends. _And then: _Your best mate tried to get you to kill someone, and your secret will never be safe again. _Just a year ago: _Your parents are dead because you refused to join the Death Eaters. _

The Marauders had been the one bright spot in his otherwise bleak life. A lot of people had never understood how someone as smart and serious as Remus could enjoy spending time with pranking, mirthful gits like James and Sirius, but the fact of the matter was that Remus needed someone to take his mind off of his plight, and hanging around with a couple of brilliant troublemakers ensured that there was never much time to wallow in self-pity. More than that, the Marauders were the most loyal, understanding people Remus had ever come across, and they helped him deal with his "furry little problem" as well as could possibly be hoped for. And there was something so appealing about having a support system, even a sort of _family,_ outside of his parents. All in all, the Marauders were probably the best thing that had ever happened to Remus.

And now he'd lost all three of them in the space of about 18 hours.

Just last night he'd received the news that James and Lily were dead, Harry was alive, and Voldemort was gone. That, of course, brought on a whirlwind of emotions, but chief among them was grief. Remus missed Lily terribly, of course, but what killed him was losing James. James—Prongs—the lead Marauder, the hopeless romantic, the beautiful stag, the cheerful bane of McGonagall's existence, was dead. It turned Remus's world upside down. James had always been the one with a sensible plan. He'd always known the way forward, whether he was planning a prank or talking himself and his friends out of serious trouble. He'd been the first Marauder to buy a house, to marry, to settle down. He was _dependable_, a trait Remus had always valued more highly than he ever could have expressed.

James was _dead. _

As if that hadn't been enough of a shock, earlier today had come word that—inconceivably—Sirius had murdered Peter and was now in Azkaban.

Sirius.

Had murdered Peter.

And was in Azkaban.

When James had died, Remus had taken some scant comfort in the knowledge that he and his friends could face the tragedy together, be each other's strength. Sirius would be mad with grief, Peter would be shattered, and of course Remus was in terrible condition, but they would have gotten through it together.

But Peter was dead.

And Sirius must have been a traitor all along. How long had his life been a lie?

Sobs wracked Remus's body, but his grief was too overwhelming to simply leak out through his tears. First the bite. Then losing his parents. Then losing James. Now losing Peter and discovering that he'd lost Sirius long, long ago. It was all too much. He'd been sobbing for hours and all the time the enormity of his grief and rage had been building. Rage at the world, rage at Sirius, at Voldemort, at the wolf that bit him . . . It was the rage that kept Remus from sinking into desperation. He couldn't give up. There was nothing left to live for and it wasn't _fair_.

_Life isn't fair_, said a little voice in the back of his mind. It sounded like his mother and his father and maybe some of his teachers from Hogwarts, but mostly it sounded like himself, and that was the last straw.

"I DON'T FUCKING _CARE_!" Remus screamed. He didn't care that life wasn't fair, he didn't care that things went badly for werewolves and that plenty of people had died because of Voldemort and plenty of people turned traitor. It was wrong and it was ruining his life and he couldn't take it any more. "JAMES IS DEAD AND LILY IS DEAD AND PETER IS DEAD AND SIRIUS WAS A TRAITOR ALL ALONG AND MY FAMILY'S DEAD AND EVERYONE'S GONE AND I'M ALONE AND IT'S NOT FAIR AND _I NEVER WANTED TO BE A FUCKING WEREWOLF AND I HATE IT ALL!_"

Remus wanted to transform. For the first time in his life, he wished it were the full moon. He needed to destroy something, and his wolfish body was so much better at destruction than his human one.

The mood was too primitive for magic. That was lucky, too, or else Remus might have pulled a Sirius and blown up a street full of people. But no. The rage was soaked in grief and it was as wolfish as the human Remus had ever felt.

Remus ran into the kitchen of his tiny cottage and grabbed the longest knife he could find. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he spun around and sliced thought the curtains. Smashed the chairs. The table. Lacerated the sofa. All the while, he sobbed and screamed and cursed, pouring out his grief and rage into the listening air, bombarding it with emotion.

At last, breathing heavily and still crying and shouting hoarsely, Remus sat down in the wreckage of his furniture. The rage had mostly left him by now, and the grief was starting to really take hold.

James was dead.

Lily.

Peter.

Mum and Dad.

Sirius was gone too.

There was a knock at the door. Remus set down his knife, grabbed his wand, and peered out the window.

Dumbledore.

For a second, Remus forgot what he was supposed to do. Then he remembered. "What did you plant—on the Hogwarts—grounds specifically—for my use?" he asked through the door—or he tried to ask it, despite his sobs. Most of the words got out.

"The Whomping Willow," Dumbledore replied, and rarely had Remus heard such a tender note in the old professor's voice.

Remus opened the door and let in his former headmaster.

Dumbledore looked around the living room in mild surprise. "Remus, I thought you had . . . arrangements for the full moon."

Remus sighed. "I do. This is—from today." He gestured to the knife laying on what had been the armrest of the sofa.

"I see." Dumbledore looked melancholy and thoroughly drained, thought he seemed to be attempting to hide the latter. "I see."

There was a long silence, which Dumbledore broke with, "Remus, I'm so sorry." They were floundering words with little real meaning in such a devastating situation, but Remus understood.

"I know" was the werewolf's only response.

"It seems you've . . . dealt with things," the headmaster continued. "I'm afraid I can't help you with that. The world is an unjust place, Remus, and you've gotten the short end of the broom handle time and time again. However you live with what has happened is your struggle, and no one can fight it for you. Sympathy is superficial, but I have come to offer it to you in any event. I hope you can forgive me."

Remus inclined his head.

"There's a meeting of the Order tonight. No one will blame you if you choose not to attend, but it may do you some good, and I'm sure everyone would like to see a Marauder."

Remus had no response. Thinking about the future was beyond his current capacity.

"Do you want any help cleaning up?"

Remus shook his head. Right now he needed to see the destruction around him in physical form. Perhaps if it was visible it would be easier to handle.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Dumbledore said, and for a moment he just stood there, looking as heartbroken as the werewolf had ever seen him. Then the old man spun on his heel and was gone.

Gone.

Remus Lupin stretched out in the wreckage of what had once been his living room and cried.

**A/N: Please review. Thank you. **


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